


The Lion Of Snakes

by justanother_bloody_fangirl



Category: A Very Potter Musical Series - Team StarKid, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco's Gryffindor, EVERYTHING BELONGS FIRST TO JK ROWLING, Gen, Multi, THEN TEAM STARKID
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-04-07 22:04:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14090661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanother_bloody_fangirl/pseuds/justanother_bloody_fangirl
Summary: Draco Malfoy - the Draco Malfoy - has just disgraced his family name. He was sorted into Gryffindor. As the years go by, Draco learns about alliances, friends, foes and the fact that where you belong doesn't depend on where your personality fits, or your family tree and their alliances, it is where you decide to belong, and where you create a place for yourself.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> I've read some works which use this idea, so I've decided to create my own version.

All my life I’ve been told the same damn things: “mudbloods are dangerous and vile, they have no right to our gift and you are to not, _absolutely_ _not, fraternise or even dare to befriend or disease our line with one_ ”, “never ever let half-bloods or blood traitors reign over you, and mudbloods are so beneath you that they aren’t even equal to a house-elf” etc. etc. etc.

And never forgetting the one thing one could view as close to a compliment as I could get – “Slytherins are right and the powerful ones, no matter what anyone says, our family line is now the purest of Slytherins, and you will carry on the reign we have led.”

Now, at the age of eleven, I will _finally_ get to do something right: get sorted into Slytherin, carry on the little group of followers I’ve got and get good grades.

I’ve already bought my wizarding things from Diagon Alley, Father deliberately splashing our cash in any kind of way. Our family has an eagle owl named Zeus, who Father made me swear to bring to Hogwarts, but I managed to buy a small, little, rare breed ball of fluff which I called Zarrick (Father wanted it to him to be called Salazar, but I found that pretentious and wanted, for some reason to call it ‘Rick’, so I decided to shorten Salazar to ‘Zar’ and, secretly, added ‘Rick’ on the end) with emerald and crimson feathers that I decided to bring to Hogwarts as well. I will be using Zeus to travel between here and home, with Zeus staying more with Father and Mother than here, and Zarrick will stay here, with me, who I will use to send messages to friends…not that I have many. Also, Zarrick is very good company.

Father sent for a Ministry car to take me to Kings Cross, by myself, early this morning. Mother waved goodbye, and Father just nodded at me from behind _The Daily Prophet_ , eyes glued to some report about a something-or-other in somewhere-or-other with someone-or-other doing something-or-other. Great. Random person has priority over me, of course.

The car journey was quick, and silent. The driver got me through Platform 9 and 3/4, telling me he had been instructed to deliver me straight to a carriage with Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott and Millicent Bulstrode in it – the gang I’m meant to spend all my time with. My father obviously ordered this, because I have a regular habit of avoiding 90% of this gang. He is forcing me to spend time with them as per usual.

Crabbe – Stupid and thuggish

Goyle – Stupid and thuggish

Parkinson – God help me escape her

Blaise – the only person I like in that group, but he’s got other friends that he will hang out with more in Hogwarts than me and the others, he’s only here because his parents are terrified of mine.

Nott – Idiot who only hangs out with us because he wants to be popular and is too weak to make friends of his own. Wimpy, weedy, ugly…you get what I mean **(Theodore Nott is like who Peter Pettigrew was to the rest of the Marauders at Hogwarts in this group)**

Bulstrode – the only thing that makes her other than invisible to everyone is her size.

As soon as I am pushed into the carriage, the door slamming shut behind me, Parkinson pushes Bulstrode with all her might, which I am very surprised at, and drags me down next to her. Then she launches into a conversation about Harry Potter and how she met him blah blah blah.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate or like the poster boy Harry Potter, what he did for humanity was amazing, and, he hasn’t been in the spotlight for years – so he mustn’t be that arrogant – but I don’t like Parkinson.

That’s what I’ve been listening too for the past half hour – urgh. Suddenly, there is a knock at the door and a bushy haired girl is waiting politely outside, looking at us all with a blank face. Parkinson smiles sugary sweet at the girl, but does not move, as does no one else. The girl’s face starts to darken as she becomes more impatient, but she doesn’t move either. She recognises Parkinson as the leader of the group, and stares back at her through the glass, like some kind of silent stand-off.

I stand up, taking everyone off guard, and open the door for the girl. She nods, but does not smile, and pushes past me, standing at the centre of the carriage, while I sit back in my seat – noticing that Parkinson has moved a couple of centimetres away from me.

“A boy named Neville has lost his toad. It’s called-” she begins to say, but a chubby boy from outside scurries past, calling out ‘Trevor’. “Trevor. That’s Neville. Anyway, have any of you seen him, or do you want to help look?” She looks around, leaving a small glance of hope at me, which Parkinson sees, and acts upon it. Standing up, she places herself between me and the girl.

“I don’t recognise you – what’s your name?” Parkinson spits, venom coated in honey.

“Hermione Granger. And you are?” The girl is already suspicious of Parkinson. She’s clever.

“Granger…mmm. I haven’t heard that name before. Blood status?” Parkinson says sneakily, already arming herself with insults. But this question makes the girl, Hermione Granger, almost confused and she falters. “No, no, no. You don’t have to tell me, you are a mu- muggleborn.”

I think I’ve stopped breathing. Parkinson saying _muggleborn_. She’s up to something.

“Oh! Yes, my parents are muggles. So? I already know some spells. Fixing spells, Levitating spells…look – _Lumos_! _Nox_!” Hermione Granger produces her wand, and a light appears at the end, then disappears.

“Clever. Brave…hmm. Ravenclaw or Gryffindor I would say. Well, you have no need to – _worry_ – about us yet. You’ll find out my name soon enough. Now leave.” Parkinson turns and sits down, but Hermione Granger still doesn’t leave. I stand up again, and pull her outside.

“Look, carry on searching for Trevor – alright? When we get to Hogwarts just stay out of their – our way. Slytherins and other houses don’t mix, especially with Gryffindors, if you end up being one, and especially not muggleborns.” I whisper to her, she only looks at me darkly.

“How do you know you’ll be in Slytherin?” She asks, curiously.

“Well. We only really have purebloods and a few half-bloods and the _exceptionally rare_ cases of muggleborns – and, well, most of my family, especially my Father’s line, is from Slytherin. It’s expected. Now go.” I start to push her away, for I hear the door sliding open behind me. She walks away and I feel Pansy pull me back. “Don’t worry, I was just putting that muggleborn in her place.”

“Muggleborn? She’s gone now, you can say mudblood. That was just a bit of fun – as will be the whole year now.” Parkinson mutters, staring darkly at me. For the next ten minutes, there is an awkward silence, until a boy about two years older than us shoots past our window, loudly hissing to his friend up ahead that _Harry Potter_ is on the train, a few carriages down. Parkinson stands up, and nods to Goyle and Crabbe, then all three ‘swagger’ (more like looking like they are drunk) away to see the boy wonder, You-Know-Who killer, Boy Who Lived whose just under two months younger than me.

They came back five minutes later, almost shaking with anger.

“Weasley…damn rat… _I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR BLOODY KNUCKLE GOYLE!_ And that mudblood Granger turning up a second later. Yeah _she_ was the footsteps we heard – not a Prefect. Probably sucking up to that goddamn Potter. Fat chance she’s going to get of being friends with him – what he said to me that ungreatful arse…why would he choose a _Weasley_? Well, all three are in for it now – and why not that fat, quivering, idiot Squib – _NO NOT YOU MILLICENT I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT YOU! I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT YOU EITHER CRABBE! AND GOYLE BEFORE YOU EVEN LOOK AT ME I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT YOU I AM TALKING ABOUT LONGBOTTOM!_ – as well because he looks like an easy target.” Parkinson rages, her face turning white with anger. Bulstrode has tears leaking down her face, Crabbe looks shaken, Goyle is sucking his knuckle and looks close to tears, while Nott looks scared and even wimpier and Blaise just stares out the window, trying to block her out.

A Prefect knocks on our door, another Weasley. You can tell by their flaming hair, which I think is quite cool, and their Gryffindor robes, which, unluckily for them, looked a little shabbier then everyone else’s – but why should people get new robes every year?

“Please keep it down and you need to change. You’ll be their soon. I’m Percy Weasley, Gryffindor Prefect. You can wear your clothes underneath your robes for tonight, seeing as you don’t have your House and don’t have any of your House colours or crest, which will be part of your uniform from tomorrow.” The Prefect says, before moving on, but not before he hears Parkinson hissing “another bloody Weasley.”

We pull on the plain black robes and then Parkinson starts up on the Weasley family.

“How many children do they have – do you know? _Seven_. No wonder they call their home The Burrow.” Parkinson sneers, Blaise looks at her in surprise, I have to force myself not to punch her – and the other four stare at her in confusion.

Idiots.

“You know – rabbits? Rabbits live in burrows and – you know! Rabbits… _you know_. Like…have a load of kids…” Parkinson trails off, shaking her head at their stupidity. They get what she means, but not the real insult behind it – not piecing the two things she said together.

“We’re here!” Blaise cries and hurries out of the compartment quickly, trying to avoid us…how I wish I could do that. A massive man is directing all us first-years to some boats that float along the lake. I take in the sheer awe of Hogwarts when I get the full of the castle, lit up with thousands of lights in the darkness and surrounded with the forests, mountains and clouds. It is too surreal.

I don’t really take in what happens next, I’m too excited because I am going to get Sorted! Into Slytherin, of course. I finally spot Harry Potter, and the tall boy next to him must be the Weasley boy with the rat. Hermione Granger is nearby, as is Neville Longbottom. While most are discussing Harry Potter, those closest to me glance at me occasionally – my Father and heritage is quite renowned. Not that I like it.

The Sorting begins and I see Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom join Gryffindor, along with a small, Irish boy named Seamus Finnigan and a girl named Lavender Brown. Crabbe, Goyle, Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis join Slytherin, of course, and I note down a few others in different Houses: Susan Bones, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hannah Abbott, Ernie Macmillan, Wayne Hopkins, Megan Jones, and Kevin Entwhistle join Hufflepuff. Terry Boot, Mandy Brocklehurst, Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, Isobel MacDougal, Stephen Cornfoot and Sue Li join Ravenclaw.

Then it is my turn. Oh god…I’m panicking so bad. But why? I’m Slytherin. That’s it. No ifs or buts. But what if I don’t ge- no. Here I go. Slytherin here I come. The Sorting Hat is placed on my head, and, to my surprise hesitates for a few moments, before I hear a strange whisper in my head.

“Ah, a Malfoy. Boy, your blood belongs to Slytherin, your family have always been there. Your truest part of yourself, your soul, though, belongs to something far different. Far…braver.” It’s a good thing I’m not going to be in Ravenclaw, for sure, because it takes me a while to work out.

“No-no! No! You can’t mean- you…” I mumble, which I think Professor McGonagall hears.

The Hat can’t possibly mean – no. I’m not

“GRYFFINDOR!”


	2. Chaper Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath of Draco's sorting

I look at Professor McGonagall in fear and hope, as the applause crashes over my ears. She beams down at me, then furrows her brow slightly at my worried face. I force a smile and she nods over at the Gryffindor table, which has erupted in conversation and I stumble over there, and slide next to Neville Longbottom.

The rest of the Sorting Ceremony takes place and, while no one is looking, I draw up a list of names:

_Slytherin:_

_Vincent Crabbe,_

_Gregory Goyle,_

_Blaise Zabini,_

_Theodore Nott,_

_Pansy Parkinson,_

_Millicent Bulstrode,_

_Daphne Greengrass,_

_Emmeline Runcorn,_

_Tracey Davis_

_Hufflepuff:_

_Ernie Macmillan,_

_Justin Finch-Fletchley,_

_Wayne Hopkins,_

_Roger Malone,_

_Kevin Entwhistle,_

_Megan Jones,_

_Hannah Abbott,_

_Susan Bones,_

_Lily Moon,_

_Sally-Anne Perks_

_Ravenclaw:_

_Terry Boot,_

_Mandy Brocklehurst,_

_Michael Corner,_

_Anthony Goldstein,_

_Padma Patil,_

_Isobel MacDougal,_

_Stephen Cornfoot,_

_Oliver Rivers,_

_Lisa Turpin,_

_Sue Li_

_Gryffindor:_

_Harry Potter,_

_Ronald Weasley,_

_Neville Longbottom,_

_Dean Thomas,_

_Seamus Finnigan,_

_Hermione Granger,_

_Lavender Brown,_

_Parvati Patil,_

_Sophie Roper,_

_Sally Smith,_

_Draco Malfoy_

For my name, it is just a messy scrawl. With a start, I realise that each House is meant to have ten, five boys, five girls, but while Slytherin has nine, four boys, five girls, Gryffindor has eleven, six boys and five girls – surely this is proof that I should be in Slytherin?

I feel hot tears prick my eyes – what will my father say about this? I feel a tap on my shoulder and I see the round, yet happy, yet nervous, face of Neville Longbottom.

“Hi, umm, I’m Neville. We kind of met – Hermione says I went past your train compartment. What where you writing down?” He smiles at me, and I find myself grinning and showing him my list. “That’s cool, it helps you learn names. Do you think you’ll do it every year?”

“Well, if I find them interesting, then yes – sure. I like lists. I can control the uncontrollable – sort them into where they are meant to be. When things get out of hand it helps me cope.” I reply. We talk for the rest of the meal, which is amazing and indescribable, and follow Percy and our nine other first-year House Mates to our dorms. The creeping fear that I wasn’t meant to be here fills me with dread, but once I see the room, and the fact that there are six beds, all equally proportioned into the room, the feeling disappears and I claim the bed between Neville and Seamus.

Sleep hits me like an Unforgivable Curse, and the effects are the same as well.

_“Draco….Draco….DRACO!” Someone is yelling, so loud…to loud…make it stop!_

_Pain – torture – curses – fear – horror – anger – a pale face illuminated by a waterfall of white hair, contorted in anger._

_Pain – torture – curses – fear – horror – anger – the man is angry, so angry. Father._

_Pain – torture – curses – fear – horror – anger – laughs fill my ears, tearing something Dark from my soul._

_Pain – torture – curses – fear – horror – anger – screams and cries echo around me. My own._

_“DRACO! DRACO! DRACO!” The shouts morph for my father’s voice, to my mother, to the gang of Slytherins, to Percy Weasley, to Hermione Granger, to Harry Potter, though I haven’t really heard his voice before, to Ronald Weasley, or what I guess his voice to be, to Seamus Finnigan, his Irish accent definite, to Dean Thomas, the cool, calm collected boy that I don’t think I would ever hear shout, to Neville Longbottom, his voice tinged with fear and – and – confidence? – “DRACO! DRACO! DRACO!” All the first year Gryffindor boys’ shouts have formed one – “DRACO! DRACO!_ DRACO BLOODY MALFOY!”

I jolt up, out of bed, head butting the small Irish boy and bringing him down with me, as I tumble off the bed and on top of him. To stop myself from falling, I grab onto someone else’s leg, and bring them down on top of me. Someone else shouts and tries to stop the person I took from falling, but ends up being dragged onto the bundle. I open one eye and see the floor of the dorm, I open the other and I see two people’s bare feet. Looking up, I see Harry and Ron staring down at us, trying to not to laugh.

Neville scrambles off the top, he must have been trying to help Dean, whose leg I grabbed. Dean pushes himself up, and then I carefully bring myself up, looking at the squashed boy still on the floor. He’s lying on his back, and slowly he brings his legs up to his chest, wraps his arms around them and stares at us tiredly.

“I don’t think I should’ve survived that. I mean, three people – on top of the – smallest person here. Now that ain’t _fair_! My bed is too far – too far… Dean?” He looks mischievously up at his tall best mate, who sighs, bends down and drags him by his bent legs two feet before picking him up, dropping him on his bed and moving down to his own.

The other three do the same, and I clamber into my own.

“Hey Draco?” Harry asks.

“We were just – you know…wondering about what happened.” Ron carries on. I look around and see everyone’s face trained on me. I just stare back, utterly confused.

“Well, you know – the dream.” Deans says, and I nod, but still not quite understanding.

“You were screaming, like you were being tortured. It’s a good thing we have thick wall here – none of us know how to perform a Silencing Charm, and it took us _ages_ to wake you up.” Neville explains, and I nod again, but still don’t say anything.

“Please, Draco. I could have died,” Seamus cries, dramatically throwing himself backwards, then launching back up to carry on, “trying to figure out what was wrong. You owe them lot, the tall, heavy, no-help pack of idiots, and me, the small, innocent boy, unfairly hurt in a dramatic night-time escapade, an explanation.”

“OK…I guess it won’t hurt to tell. I…umm…was having memories mixed with fears – if you know what I mean…my father…umm…uh…cursing me…angry with me…people calling my name. People I know, people I’ve met – you guys…but I guess that was just me hearing you shouting to try and wake me up…I’m just _scared – so bloody scared –_ of what’s going to happen to me…now that I am here... in _Gryffindor._ ” I stutter, trying to form the words to get the meaning across. Neville and Ron nodded understandingly at me, Seamus smiles knowingly and Dean and Harry look confused, then shocked and then finally they smile comfortingly.

I guess that it depended on how well each of them knew my family: Neville and Ron, being purebloods and who lived in England, knew the most, and had probably even met my father a handful of times, and, especially for Ron, I knew it wouldn’t have been the nicest of meetings. Seamus, coming from Ireland, and from a half-muggle, half-wizarding family, knew quite a lot, but probably hadn’t met any of my family, and had probably only heard about the Malfoy line. Dean and Harry, having grown up in muggle families – Dean with his mother, stepfather and siblings and Harry with his muggleborn mother’s sister, her husband, and their kid – wouldn’t really know anything about my family, the “Malfoy stereotypes” (Slytherin, pureblood, arrogant etc.) or the history that lay in my ancestry.

But now I realise, as my friends comfort me, and we settle down to sleep again, maybe I can cut all ties with the associations and expectations. I will not be your run-of-the-mill Malfoy who will say something like: "My name is Draco Malfoy. I am a racist, I despise gingers and mudbloods, I hate Gryffindor house, and my parents work for the man who killed your parents. Do you want to be my friend?"

No.

I am proud to be a Gryffindor.

My friends can be anyone, no matter what race or blood or hair colour and I will end up with my friends because of how we get on, not because I’ve asked.

I despise what my parents have done, but I will not hide from it.

I am Draco Freakin’ Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is this alright? Quite proud...I think. Comment and kudos please!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast...

Chapter 3 –

When we woke up, we all shared happy smiles and none of them looked tired and all looked well, if you didn’t count a bruise covering Seamus’s left eye. Laughing, we headed down to breakfast, giggling and laughing all the way.

I sit down between Neville and Ron, and opposite Seamus and Dean, while Harry sits beside Ron. We are all getting stares: Harry, because he’s the Boy Who Lived; Ron, because he’s very noticeable and has already become firm friends with Harry; me, because I’m a Malfoy, whose in Gryffindor and is friends with The Boy Who Lived, Neville Longbottom and Ron Weasley; Neville, because he’s friends with a Malfoy and noticeably easy to pick on; Seamus, because he’s already caused three minor explosions and Dean, because he’s a muggleborn, friends with two purebloods, one of which is _me_ , the other is Harry Potter and is best mates with the “small, bubbly Irish boy who keeps exploding things” which a Ravenclaw girl called Seamus, while talking to Percy Weasley.

“Now, now Penelope…he’s a first year. But it is true. Seamus Finnigan, is it? Please stop exploding things.” Percy orders, tapping Seamus on the shoulder, who shrugs.

“Sorry sir, I mean – Prefect? I can’t help it! My ma always says it is my gift, like Nymphadora Tonks, she’s got a special talent – she can-” Seamus babbles, but Percy walks away, and Seamus isntantly returns to his very animated conversation with Neville about his first explosion – that ended up with his nursery being burnt to the ground, but, thankfully, when no one was inside to be hurt.

I saw Dean was sketching something and I leaned over to see what it was: the scene that just happened, Seamus throwing his arms up, as Percy and Penelope looked on, and Neville listening intently, with my hair and arm, reaching out for some milk. While the drawing was real-life, the center of the picture was Seamus, bubby, over-the-top and larger than life, and his actual size, and it almost seemed that there was a spotlight on him. Even his bruise was perfect in detail.

“Wow Dean – you can draw? And, wow, Seamus, and everything else, is so… _detailed_. I’m alright at drawing – good at shading jumpers and hair…I drew a picture of my father, and Yaxley said it was good, the shading on his hair.” I say, as he hands me the picture. For the rest of breakfast we discuss art, which there is barely any wizard art, so I know a lot about muggle art, every so often being interrupted by Seamus’s explosions – somethings telling me he’s trying to recreate the nursery incident.

As we talk, he draws me. Like with the previous picture, where Seamus was the centre of the picture, I was the main focus of this one. However, I wasn’t as detailed – didn’t have much care or life or something…I don’t know. Seamus’ black and white counterpart had something more than mine…well they are best friends.

Breakfast is suddenly over and we have to go to our first ever class ever at Hogwarts. My first class as a Gryffindor as well, obviously. I’m not sure why I was so worried about being in Gryffindor, I have been accepted and belong here, and I’m sure I’ve always felt like I was a Gryffindor, deep down in my soul, and I was always trying to repress, hide and deny it.

My confidence is put slightly on edge when I catch Pansy and her posse – what could have been _my_ posse – glaring up me and Blaise sitting a little away from them, giving me a small smile and, as he reaches out for his parchment, his thumbs point up slightly. He’s giving me a reassuring thumbs up! But subtly, so Parkinson – that sounds so much better to call her then _Pansy_ – won’t see. And if any of the posse see, he can blame it on nerves in his thumbs twitching and they would just unsurely nod, not having a clue what that means or is.

“First lesson – Charms.” Neville looks up from his timetable, nervously. “Oh wow, I’m going to fail. _Everyone_ thought I was a Squib until I survived a fall. I bounced down safely from the top of my house to the ground after my uncle threw me out.”

“No you won’t, Nev. You’ll be fine. Trust me.” I say reassuringly and putting my arm around him.

“Oh look – its schlongbottom! Can’t even find his toad – has to let a mudblood find it! Bet you don’t even know which way to hold your wand. Can’t wait to get rid of a dirty, fat Squib. Clean up Hogwarts just a tad.” Parkinson shoulders between us, sending Neville tumbling, quivering, to the floor; I crouch down to help him up, feeling the burn of her glare, as I stand up I turn on the hereditary Malfoy dark look, unwillingly of course, and stare her down. Instinctively, she backs down, hanging her head slightly, as she was taught to do when facing an angry Malfoy. Realising that she was my enemy, rather than my inferior, and that I’ll probably be disowned sometime soon, her head springs up, burning in anger and she twitches, infuriated she doesn’t have a comeback for me, she flounces off, with Nott, Crabbe, Goyle and Bulstrode close behind her; Daphne Greengrass, Emmeline Runcorn and Tracy Davis just a little behind, nervously looking at me and whispering amongst themselves; Blaise doesn’t actually go past me, he’s by his table, in a happy discussion with some Second Year Slytherins and Ravenclaws, and Terry Boot and Ernie Macmillan.

Smiling, at the thought of someone I counted as a friend also escaping our stereotypical connections, me and Neville rush after Seamus and Dean, who are waiting for us by the doors. Harry and Ron are talking to Hagrid, I think. The Hermione girl is clutching her book tightly, sadly looking around, alone, before speeding off to Charms. Why hadn’t the girls befriended her? Lavender, Parvati, Sophie and Sally? Maybe it’s because they are all in pairs – but why can’t they just include her until she finds her feet and some true friends, who might even end up being them?


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco's letter...

By now we’ve settled into a routine, I know what we have on each day and almost all the kids in each House. I want to ask for more parchment from home, but I’m awaiting any kind of disownment letter from my family before I send any requests their way.

Neville picked up on my nervous fearfulness each breakfast, then Dean, quickly followed by Seamus. Me explaining it to those two caught the attention of the other two as Ron was stuffing himself with toast, and Harry was sipping tea and pushing his bacon onto Ron’s plate. That kid had something against bacon.

Neville had quietly pulled me aside our third day, so our second morning, and I explained my fears to him. The next day, I jumped at the sight of a parliament of owls, a parliament larger than any _actual_ Parliament from my perspective, as they soared in like a feathery thundercloud. I was trying to suppress my panic attack, but I accidentally knocked Dean with my violently shaking shoulder.

“Hey, Draco, what’s up?” Dean asks worriedly, making Seamus spin round, almost flying off his chair, to stare wildly at me, scrutinising me to see what looked off about me.

“I-I-I-I can’t…can’t…breathe. M-m-m-my my father…father…Gryffin-Gryffindor…h-h-home…r-r-reaction…going to…going to…” I stutter, my chest contracting tightly as no air fills my lungs.

“Right, mate – you need to calm down. Now. You are going to faint and trust me – the looks and taunts you are going to get from the Parkinson lot is worse than anything your father can do here.” Dean speaks calmly and monotone; I shake my head, but one glance at the posse, and the fact Bulstrode just nudged Parkinson to look at me, makes me realise that what he is saying is true. I shut my mouth and focus on breathing through my nose, at first, the power of my breath almost makes me choke, but then I begin to relax; my pulse plummets to a steady, rythmic, safety-net beat; the world stops spinning and shaking and steadies; air flows through my blood, passing through my cells in aerobic respiration and out again through my lungs as carbon dioxide in gas exchange. What? I secretly studied muggle science. Our biology is the same as _theirs_ , and some parts of their chemistry. Obviously, our physics is completely different to theirs.

That’s when Zeus lands in front of me; his eyes glinting angrily at me as he flaps a red letter at me, and then turning away from me, snubbing me, like my father told him how to look around me. If he was any more humane I’m pretty sure he would have spat at me. _Red letter…_

“Oh bloody hell. A Howler.” Ron said, only noticing the situation now, spitting toast and bacon onto Zeus’ feathers. _Beat that, bird_ , I think mischievously.

_I’m Draco Freakin_ _’ Malfoy._

_Draco Freakin’ Malfoy._

_A Gryffindor and proud._

“Draco Lucius Malfoy.” My father’s venomous voice slips out like oil poisoning the sea. Howlers usually shout; mine’s barely above a whisper. “What disgrace have you placed on this family? What were you thinking? But then again, it has always been there. Yes, so many times you have portrayed Gryffindor-ish etiquette…so subtly…you traitorous snake. Or rather not. The only snake part of you is your honourable ancestry and heritage. But now you have shed that façade, that beautiful mould of skin we blessed you with, you are no longer linked to that powerful line. I think you will be assured that your next trip home will be in the summer, once I have gone over a few things you have destroyed. Then, we will discuss your future and how we are able to carry on our lineage with this blemish. I have heard you have disowned your friends for inadequate replacements: mudbloods, blood-traitors, Squibs, bastards, coloured, incompetent Irish and Harry Potter. Well, you are to give up these new ‘friends’ you created to spite us and further stain this mess, and begin to rebuild those bridges you seemed to have gone into the process of burning.” The Howler sets alight and burns into ash, but even the flames are ice-cold like my father. Even though the Howler was quiet, the whole Hall had stopped what they were doing to listen in.

I look up, at my friends who were just insulted horrendously. Ron looks stunned and angry; Neville’s bit his lip and looking away from me and the letter; Harry looks confused and shocked; Seamus is almost flying off his place on the bench, he’s so angrily vibrating, full to the brim with his explosive fury; Dean sits next to me quietly, staring at the ash. _Dean…he was the worst insulted…_

“Dean…guys…I’m sorry. About that. My father – he’s…he’s…”

“A racist, evil, old-fashioned bastard.” Ron cuts in with a small smile, making everyone, even Dean, give a small chuckle.

“Yeah. He’s tried to indoctrinate me into that kind of way of thinking…but I’m afraid that, as you can see, as I sit here, as a proud Gryffindor, with the best friends I could have ever made, even if they are all everything he is against, I seemed to have failed him.” Everyone now is in fits of laughter, the rest of the Hall going back to eating, and Seamus laughs so hard he loses control of that fire that built up inside of him when he was fuming, and all the cups in the Hall all have mini-harmless-explosions bursting out the top of them. Screams of surprise echo round the Hall, while we are almost on the floor rolling about with laughter. “Sometimes I think that I’m not even his child – I could be Dobby’s or something. Aw, poor Dobby, I’ve left him alone with father for a year now.”

“Who’s Dobby?” Harry asks, wiping tears from his eyes.

“The Malfoy’s house-elf. House-elves are innocent creatures that are used as slaves in rich families and buildings. Here has house-elves, but they are treated much better here. They can only be freed if you give them clothes. They also have a massive, irrational fear of toilets. Just the thought of how most a treated makes me want to spew.” I explain.

“What I never get, is how do you get your clothes washed? I mean they wash them, but what do you say to them?” Ron intrigues and I pause to think.

“Well, I think the clothes rule is you can only free them if you give it to them as a possession. Like, if I gave Dobby a sock to keep as his that would mean he’s free but, if I gave him my shirts to wash they are _mine_. I usually help him round the house though, when father isn’t looking.” I theorise, going to take a sip of the apple juice I was drinking, only to realise it had all evaporated in the explosion.

We all clear up and begin to exit the Hall for boring History of Magic with Mr Binns.

“Draco!” Parkinson barks, I don’t acknowledge her but she whirls we around. “So you are going to ignore your father’s orders?” She asks almost fearfully, worry seeping into her eyes. Of course she would be scared of me doing that, my father would take some of it out on her and her family as well as me.

“No. I’m happy with my real friends, unlike I ever was with you and your posse. And just unlike how you will always be, trapped in a small-minded, old-fashioned and tyrannical, depleting way of life. People like you, your family and my own, their ‘race’ is dying out. And good riddance I say.” I shove her off and march away, catching her stony eyes on last time, before joining my giggly friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapters will be fairly short, and a lot of the Harry-centric stuff will be missed out, but not the major parts. You will see what I mean later.  
> Can I just say, I don't agree with what Lucius Malfoy says and wish I didn't have to put that in. I would never say that to another person, but Lucius would, so I had to put it in.   
> How many references can you spot to later books or Starkid?  
> Comment and kudos! xx


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Double Potions...

We have double potions now. _Great_. Two lessons with what should have been my favourite teacher, my head of house and one of my family’s closest friend teaching me. I shuffle in trying to hide beside Neville’s bulk ( _I’m sorry Nev! It’s just baby fat, you’ll thin out soon! And you are much thinner than loads of kids – especially those pampered, bum-lickers in Slytherin with their cowardly bum-licker families…_ ) and Dean’s beanpole structure…but Professor Snape can see the wisps of my platinum blonde hair springing up between the gap in the boy’s shoulders, like someone screaming ‘POLO!’ in a game of Marco Polo.

“Ah, Draco Malfoy. I obviously missed talking to you at the Sorting Ceremony…and meals…and when everyone is in their common rooms…I had to admit I wasn’t as surprised as I think I should have been when you were Sorted. Your friends and House, your father doesn’t approve…but of course you will stick by them. You belong in Gryffindor. However, I predicted your father’s response word-for-word after he read my letter about you-”

“WHAT? You told him, you snitch!” I scream, pushing Neville lightly out the way and barrelling in front of Snape. He’s taken aback, but regains his composure and places his hand on my head, feigning caring and loving, and ruffles my hair. But, when I was little, all those people who were my father and mother’s friends, and even them themselves, would do the same thing. I must have dents in my skull where those fingers press down on already tender and bruised flesh, squeezing my head harshly and as a warning for what used to come later. I just stare at him defiantly, so he releases my head with a light, threatening push. He storms off, leaving me breathing heavily, my locks of hair resting at different angles along my forehead and around my ears.

I’m on a roll with the defying-my-father/being-myself routine which includes not slicking my hair back, just letting my hair fly away at different angles. In mornings I only brush big tangles out, leaving my hair, which curls ever so slightly at the ends, to hang around my head comfortably. I also make my own bed, sometimes I have even tried to do my own laundry, but a house-elf I swear is invisible always gets to my stained clothes before I do.

“Well, Mr Malfoy, I would not class myself as a ‘snitch’. That’s a muggle term, for anyone who thinks that our little Gryffindor here called me a small, gold ball that flies around in Quidditch that Seekers chase and defines the end of a game. I merely told your father your predicament because I’m sure that you never would have. He’d have found out some way, and wouldn’t you rather it was from me, and not someone like Runcorn or Parkinson?”

For the rest of the lesson (technically lesson _s_ ) Snape introduces himself, the lesson and his expectations. He also shows a surprising and strong resentment of Harry, so strong it was basically loathing. I read the man I have known since birth and I can see some kind of sadness-fuelled anger at the root of Snape’s demeanour when addressing Harry, and calling him out in front of the class when everyone knows Harry is basically a muggleborn with his experience and knowledge of magic. That doesn’t necessarily mean he isn’t talented, he shows equal potential to everyone else, and Hermione is proof the best can come from a completely non-magic background, but unlike Hermione, Harry did not revise and read everything he could get his hands on about this world. That is understandable though, he was only just introduced to this world, and his high-ranking and important place in it – he was, and is still, in awe of it.

And slightly of himself.

Anyway, Snape knows this and only asks Harry some advanced questions that only knowledge-hungry Hermione knew the answer to, because he wanted to spite him. Snape to a T…or an S, really. S for spiteful, slippery, sly Slytherin, S for Severus Snape.

Anyway, we get set to work producing a potion for curing boils – if made correctly that is, if not, it could _cause_ boils. I was paired with Dean, on the furthest table into the Slytherin half, so we were surround by malicious Slytherins on all our sides, except our direct left which housed Hermione and Sally. We used my cauldron, and we proceed to do the potion exquisitely. Dean was happy to tell me and everyone around us that I was the one carrying us. Even Snape looked at our work with a glimmer of a ghost of a smile (so basically there wasn’t a smile), but because of my disobedience and obvious tension he would then sneer and stalk past, trying to find another potion nearly as good as ours. Do I need to say that Snape provided no compliments to anyone, even the favourite half of the class?

No one’s, other than Dean and mine’s, went perfectly. No one’s, other than Neville and Seamus’, went too dramatically wrong. Neville ended up melting Seamus’ cauldron, which was the first thing that drew our attention, because all we could hear was Nev’s trembling,

“I’m sorry, Seamus.”

And Seamus’ thickly Irish, chuckling reply,

“No, it’s fine mate. Least it didn’t explode.”

Potion was soon travelling along the floor, causing everyone to scramble up onto their stools, for it was incredibly hot and burning holes in shoes and burning the floor in a mere matter of seconds. For one blissful second I was taller than Dean, by half an inch, and then he stepped up onto his stool.

I glance around Dean to see how Snape was reacting, all I could hear was the mocking tones as he half-shouted at the boys, and I almost jump off my seat when I see Neville. Obviously, their potion had gone wrong, and now Neville was drenched in the burning stuff, which was rapidly creating aggressive boils over every inch of his bare skin, and was beginning to burn his robes. Soon the boils began to pop as well – _poor Nev_.

Snape seethes at Seamus, telling him to escort Neville to the hospital wing; he didn’t even check to see if Seamus was alright, when it was quite obvious his hands and his neck had blobs of the potion. In the corner of my eye, I could see Dean watching his best friend trail away as nervously and fervently as I was watching mine.

Snape casts a spell to mop up the potion, set right the damage and remould and set Seamus’s gloopy blob of a cauldron. Swivelling round to Harry and Ron, who were next to the unfortunate pair, he beckons _me_ over. I step off my stool and march over there, trying to seem as cock-sure and confident as possible, when I am extremely worried about two of my closest friends.

“You – Potter…Malfoy – why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you Potter? Malfoy, thought you wanted to secure your place at the top of the class, and top of the hierarchy of your House, and not the one you were meant to be in and was going to, and already were, presiding over? That’s another point you’ve lost to Gryffindor, Potter. And your first point lost to your lovely House as well, Malfoy. Make sure none of your new ‘friends’ don’t start to think you are sabotaging their House, when, if they read into it and go over the clues, they realise you might not really belong.” Snape snarls, Harry looks like he’s about to give him a piece of his mind, but Ron stops him by subtly kicking him under the cauldron. I reach out to pat Harry on the shoulder, comfortingly and also to help calm him, but that further riles Snape up. He drags me by my shoulder towards Dean and my cauldron, and for a second, he bends his arm under his chin, and is on the verge of striking me forcefully, but then remembers where he is and storms out of the dungeon, waving everyone out.

I pack my stuff away, while Dean tries to stop me, and Harry and Ron rush over, all three hell-bent on seeing what that was about. I just shake my head, eyes wide to tell that they need to back off the subject. Harry gets it first, gives me a slight nod and motions for Ron to follow him. Ron glances reassuringly at me, and I just nod at him. I can tell Harry is still upset, but hiding it because of what almost happened, so just as Ron turns around, I tilt my head at Harry. Ron nods, thumbs up and mouths ‘already onto it’. I smile, which he returns, and then he runs out after Harry, already telling him to cheer up. Dean begins to say something, but I cut him off.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it. Now, at least. The days over, let’s go check on Neville and Seamus, do our homework and get some dinner. If I want to talk about it tonight, we’ll see.” I then smile at him thankfully and we rush as fast as we can, but slowing down whenever we see Prefects, and almost to zero miles an hour when we see Percy and Penelope.

When we arrive, Seamus is already patched up and is sitting on the chair next to Neville’s bed, talking as fast as he usually does and about whatever comes into his head, like he usually does. Sometimes he’ll say half of something, something completely else will pop into his head and he’ll change to talk about that, as if it was part of the same thing.

Neville is just wiping off cream, revealing fairly pale, but boil free, skin. After he finishes wiping down the last arm, the one he was doing when we came in, he pulls his robe sleeve down and hops off the bed. He murmurs his thanks to Madame Pomfrey, who smiles sternly, while Seamus shouts his thanks and winks innocently at her, earning a small laugh from the woman, which she smothers as a cough. _She has to protect her reputation, she can’t let people think she’s going soft when she laughs at clumsy, hyperactive first years._ Me and Dean also thank her, and lead our friends out of the hospital wing and to the library to complete all our homework together.

I know Dean tells them what happened after the left when I go and pick up a book that looked useful for helping us write our Charms essay easily and quickly. It wasn’t cheating, honest. It was a book that specialised in the spell we had to revise for. Anyway, I had glanced over my shoulder, because I knew that Dean was going to do it, and I could see Dean talking almost Seamus-level fast to them, and their reactions were as expected. Neville went paler, and Seamus started to go red and slightly vibrate. _That kid and his on-the-verge-of explosive-anger-issues_.

I sat back down with them, and we completed the essay. Now, we are just finishing a Transfiguration diagram, and all the students start leaving for dinner; we pack up and follow the crowd.

Dinner passes like usual, everyone stuffing themselves ( _Ron! Ron! Ron Weasley!_ Who said that…?) and having a laugh. A few were talking about the Gringotts break-in, and Harry and Ron were trying to sell off these ‘rock’ cakes that were too close to actual rocks for comfort, before talking to each other in hushed tones.

When we got to the common room, we were distracted by Fred and George Weasley’s antics and two Second Years having a fight, consequently we didn’t talk about what happened. When we went to bed, we were all too tired to talk about what happened. Part of me was happy, part of me was sad and part of me was quaking in fear at repressed thoughts and memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens to Neville and Seamus' potion and what Snape says to Harry is actually taken straight from the book (but, obviously from my take on Draco's point of view) so all rights go to J.K Rowling.  
> Anyone catch any AVPM/AVPS/AVPSY references?   
> Did I forget to say there will be some Potter Puppet Pal's references as well?  
> Comment and kudos xx


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flying lesson...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY!!!!!!!!!! Around a month and a half....wow. This chapter was done in about an hour, but it took me ages to use the book and the film into creating my own version. I've been really busy and distracted So sorry....just ENJOY THE CHAPTER!!!!!

A couple of days passed and the subject didn’t come up once. The next breakfast I was so tense, but nothing was said; Neville spilt his cereal on him, but Hermione cleaned him up; Dean and I drew; Seamus blew stuff up; Harry and Ron schemed; the other girls gossiped and Pansy and Co. just through sullen, snotty looks that gave off the air that they wanted to seem one above us and to rub our noses in something…only that had nothing above us to rub our nose in. The days grew by and I gradually relaxed, the whole scene melted into a forgotten moment gone past.

Flying lessons were added to the timetable for one week, compulsory for each First Year and each House was paired with another. Just like our, unluckily mandatory and regular, Potions lessons, we were combined with the Slytherins. Everyone was ranting and raving about their talents, except the muggleborns (minus Justin Finch-Fletchley, Hufflepuff, who was having the lesson the day after us and, while he was a muggleborn, according to him, he “more than certainly held an astonishingly amazing natural talent about to be unleashed”) and the modest.

I mentioned…a few…times…that I had _had_ previous flying experience, but I may have over exaggerated a little bit – but Seamus acted like his home was his broom and Ron spent ages having Sophie and Sally fawning over him at the story of his near-death-experience with a hand-glider. Neville, Harry, Dean and, after a little while, I, just settled down and listened ‘intently’. Neville said he didn’t trust himself on a broom, so I promised to help him with my little knowledge (this was after I had admitted to my friends I had exaggerated). Harry and Dean, were just confused, and the latter was moody after a fight with Ron about football and Quidditch. Hermione obsessed over _Quidditch Through The Ages_ , as if the answer was subtly written in code. I felt bad, but if that is the way she’s comfortable with working then fine by me.

At the moment, we are eating breakfast and are about to head out to our next lesson, Transfiguration, when Zarrick bursts through, carrying a package over to Neville. After my Howler, and the fact Zeus hadn’t arrived since, I used Zarrick to collect newspapers and I also let my friends, mainly Neville, use him. Last night, Neville had politely requested to send him out to give his Gran a letter about the possibility of giving him a Remembrall. Once Neville opens the package, it is clear she received the letter and had agreed whole-heartedly with the suggestion.

“How does that work?” Hermione asks, interested, leaning over to get a closer view of the glass, smoke-filled, orb and tentatively reaching out, to ask permission to hold it. Passing over the ball, Neville explains the basic workings of the charmed object.

“This is a Remembrall. As you can probably tell, it helps remind you of something you’ve forgotten. This white smoke here, that turns red when you’ve forgotten something.” Neville explains and then reaches out to carefully take the ball back. “Only problem is,” he says confidently, but as the glass touches his skin and the smoke blooms red and he falters, “I can’t remember what I’ve forgotten.”

He stutters and searches around him, trying to find any clue to what he has forgotten. Hermione briefly looks around, before diving into her bag and opening some Charms book she got Professor Flitwick to allow her out from the Restricted Section.

“I wonder what Charm was placed on it, must be quite simple for mass production…then again…I wonder if we can find a Charm to bewitch the Remember – no _Remembrall_ , sorry – into telling you what you’ve forgotten.”

“Oh lookie over here, Shlongbottom’s got a Remembrall. Is it red, poor sweetie? Oh, well maybe it was you forgot to exercise after last night’s third dinner of the night.” Pansy squawks, her hand darting to the red ball. I stand up, but almost fall down in supressed laughter, when the ball stays red. “Oh, ummm…” She trails off and I snatch it out of her grasp as she freezes stunned, and Harry and Ron, who had stood up ready for a fight snigger mercilessly. For a second I’m scared that it will stay red, but it clears to a paper white smoke.

“What you forgot Parkinson, your brains?” Ron giggles, causing us all to chime in.

“Your manners?” Harry.

“Your morals?” Dean.

“Your m-m-magical ability?” Neville.

“Your books?” Hermione.

“Your dignity?” Me.

“Your soul, oh wait, I forgot – you sold your soul to Satan along with your family. Maybe you should read the fine print, I’m pretty sure you lost all of what they said in the deal as well – or have you lost the agreement? Is _that_ what you forgot? Or was it your point for coming over here? Cos I can clarify you didn’t lose that, you never had one.” Seamus finishes harshly, causing Parkinson to spin over to him. Trust Seamus to blow everything up, literally and figuratively. Crabbe and Goyle haul him up by his cloak’s shoulders and hood but at the sound of,

“Crabbe! Goyle! Unhand Mr Finnigan now!” Professor McGonagall barks, marching over to us, causing the posse to scatter and drop Seamus in a heap on the floor. Hauling himself, he mutters what must be obscenities in Irish, and smiles half-heartedly at Dean who pats him on the shoulder. McGonagall surveys the scene and then slowly walks away to her next lesson, which also happens to be our next lesson.

Just as we go to leave a take a step behind everyone, for a thought about what Neville has forgotten is nagging me. I see it instantly.

“Nev, your cloak! It must be in your dorm, quick, I’ll go with you and then we can both be late.” I say, grabbing his arm and hauling him as fast as we can towards our dorm, laughing all the way as Neville manages to giggle out a thanks.

We are only moments later than the class, so McGonagall either doesn’t realise we are late, or pretends to not see. My sneaking suspicion is the latter.

We go through the rest of the day without a hiccup, mainly because we had no lesson with the Slytherins until the flying lesson. We had double Charms by ourselves, double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs and Defence Against The Dark Arts and History of Magic, both of which were with the Ravenclaws. I like nearly everyone in the other Houses – Justin annoys me a bit, but I’m civil to him, as does Anthony Goldstein and I swear Megan Jones and Sue Li have a crush on me – and it seems the feelings are mutual. Everyone in Hogwarts has accepted me as a proud Gryffindor, so ¾ of the school likes me for it, and the other ¼ absolutely hate me. Wonder which ¼ I’m talking about?

At three-thirty we head down to the grounds, delighted at to be flying, or at the least, outdoors, on such a lovely day. The Slytherins are already there and I notice something not to different to my realisation on the first night – the brooms are split in half, so the Gryffindors face the Slytherins, and there are nine brooms on the Slytherin side, and eleven on the Gryffindor, meaning one Gryffindor on each side has no one facing them. This showed the fact that there was one extra person in my House, and one less in Slytherin. Unlike at the start of the year, a couple of short weeks ago, this didn’t faze me at all. It actually made me feel prouder to be in Gryffindor. Hermione is the one on the far end, not facing anyone, and in a bubble of her own world. Next to her, Sally and Sophie are having an animated discussion; next to Sophie is Harry and Ron, who are both admiring their brooms; next to Ron is Lavender and Parvati, then Dean and Seamus and finally me, then Neville, at the end, also facing no one. Opposite me is Blaise, who I smile at, and who gives a small smile in return.

Madame Hooch arrives and instructs us on what to do. We all cry ‘up’ and I’m pleased when the broom instantly floats up to my hand – I wasn’t lying when I said I could fly! Most of the Gryffindors’ brooms float up right away, except Hermione and Lavender’s, whose both rise up slowly mere moments later. The Slytherins are having a much harder time, Blaise is the only one to get it straight away, followed by Daphne, Tracey and, somehow, Nott. A minute later, Crabbe’s, Goyle’s and Bulstrode’s rise up, leaving Pansy the only one without her broom up. A couple of seconds later it rise half a foot and she reaches down and pulls it up, her face red. Miss is about to blow the whistle for us all to fly a few feet up, when Neville’s shoots up.

“Come back, boy!” she cries as most of us Gryffindors shout out Neville’s name. His broom is soon flinging him around like it is possessed. It twists and shoots towards us, causing us all the slam to the floor. He’s screaming for help and I can’t take it anymore. I feel the twigs of his broom shoot past my face when I flip onto my broom and follow him.

“MR MALFOY!” Madame Hooch.

“Malfoy?” Pansy.

“Draco?” Harry, Ron and Hermione.

“DRACO!” Dean.

“DRACO, MATE!” Seamus.

“GET HIM!” Seamus and Dean scream when they see that I’m trying to save Neville. He veers into an archway and up, so I go up instead. It turns out to be the right decision when he barrels over the top of the archway, back to us. His cloak catches on the swords of a statue, so I misjudge for I already had my broom ready to catch him when he would fly past. I quickly veer left and dive, for Neville was already falling, his cloak ripped. It catches again on something I can’t see, but I can see him slipping out of the cloak. I grab his hand as he falls, but the new additional weight and the angle of the broom causes it to plummet and to flip us off. Neville lands on the ground first, then me, with one hand still on his, the other on the broom which smacks me hard on the head, which causes my head to snap back onto the ground, just as my back touches the hard grass.

“Draco!” Neville’s voice rips into my ear, filled with pain, but my vision swirls then blackens.

“Quickly – Madame Pomfrey – stretcher – Mr Zambini – come with – broken wrist – leave brooms – before – say “Quidditch –” Madame Hooch’s voice fades in and out above me and I feel someone pull me up onto some sort of fabric and then two people carrying me. I blearily open one eye and the last thing I see before fully dropping unconscious is Blaise carrying the material I’m on at my feet, and Madame Hooch carrying it at my head, one arm clutching the stretcher, the other round a white-faced Neville.

“Nev…Blai…” I groan out as my eye closes again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quite a long chapter, to make up for my long absence. I love sassy Seamus when they all confront Parkinson, and Hermione's and Neville's little additions. I added little bits into the scenes, just to add kind and friendly Draco and also the last dramatic scene. Will hopefully update soon, with the last half of the chapter "The Midnight Duel" in the Philosopher's Stone, which is where all the actual scenes in the books and films canonically take place.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco wakes up to an interesting preposition...

I wake up to a searing headache and four faces staring down; two very familiar, Harry and Professor McGonagoll; one I recognise as Madame Pomfrey and the other one as a boy I recognise as a Gryffindor a few years older than me and Harry.

“So Draco is it? I’m Oliver Wood, Fifth Year and Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. I am pleased to say you will be part-”

“Mr Wood! Please let me finish treating the poor boy before you overwhelm him. Step aside!” Madame Pomfrey flies to my rescue, bustling Wood over to the side slightly. She spoons some alright tasting liquid into my mouth, then she leaves my bedside to treat another patient, throwing Wood a disgusted glare and a pitying shake of her head at me and Harry.

I wonder why the Captain of my House Quidditch team wants to speak to me...

I glance at Harry and he’s smiling wildly, but in his eyes is some kind of confusion. I turn my head to my Head of House, whose slightly smiling at me, but also looks slightly sympathetic and…protective? I take a deep breathe, brace myself and glance up at Wood.

“Ah good, Malfoy. To catch you up on what happened after you and Longbottom were transferred here, Parkinson got ahold of some kind of ball belonging to your friend and flew away with it or something. Potter here then demonstrated some incredible, natural flying skills, which is why he is here.” Wood begins, looking at Harry in admiration.

“It was awesome, Pansy was like “I’ll leave it for Schlongbottom to find it up a tree” and I was like “no” and followed her and she threw it and I caught it and-” Harry rambles excitedly, bringing a smile to my face.

“Potter!” McGonagall warns, throwing Harry and look and then nodding at Wood. Before he manages to speak, I sneak in a “well done mate” before looking sorry up at Wood.

“Anyway, Harry is now our new Seeker.” I interrupt him again with a cheer and applause. “HOWEVER, while all the spaces are filled up, we need reserves and someone who can help set up strategic training courses and idea, and plan tactics with me. Your broom skills, while not as valuable, useful or exemplary as Potter’s, are still good and the way you quickly worked out the best way to save your friend…we need minds like that, to give directions and show what to do in certain situations and outwit others and-”

“Wood! Get to the point, it is almost time for dinner and these boy’s friends are anxiously waiting for them!” McGonagall orders, which make Wood gulp and nod his head. I think I can tell what is coming, and while my ego is a little hurt at “not as valuable, useful or exemplary as Potter’s” I feel overwhelmingly proud of my friend.

“You have got the spot of second to me in the team, and will play reserve if anyone can’t play. That means you will help plan and teach the rest of the team with me, and will also learn how to play every part. You are unlikely to ever play in a match, but you are much needed, bonus addition when it comes to your brains. No other team has a reserve, or a second with as much skill in mental preparation as you.” Wood finishes and turns to leave, saying over his shoulder. “I’ll get in touch with you two when I first need to meet with you.” And he leaves the room, much to the obvious joy of Madame Pomfrey.

“Well done, boys.” McGonagall says, tapping both me and Harry on the shoulder before following Wood out. Me and Harry meet each others eyes and break out into giggles. While we aren’t close, like him and Ron, or me and Nev, or even me with Seamus or Dean, we are still good friends and celebrate the moment as such – a quick hug and cheers. I slide out the bed as we make our way out, me nodding my thanks to Madame Pomfrey, who smiles back in return.

“Wood says he wants to keep it a secret, just between the Gryffindors. Isn’t this great? I don’t really know much about the game, but Professor McGonagall told me my father was an excellent Quidditch player and would be proud.” Harry explains on our way to the Great Hall. I smile and hit him on the back gently, cheering.

“Yeah…I mean…I can’t believe it. No offense, I’m glad I didn’t get a main team spot, so much pressure and my new job – that’s right up my street! Also, what happened with Neville and also what went down with you and Parkinson?” I say excitedly, when we are about a few feet from the Great Hall’s doors. We stop so Harry can explain the story.

“Neville apparently got fixed up really quickly and was sent back to the common room to wait for everyone else. I didn’t get to see him because McGonagall caught me when I had Neville’s Remembrall and she took me to was,” Harry explains and soon I know the whole story of what happened after I left. A couple of minutes later, we enter the Great Hall and go sit with our friends.

“Draco! Thanks for trying to help me, sorry about what happened.” Neville apologises, I just bring him into a hug and sit down next to him, with Harry on my other side. We gestor for everyone to lean in and all our dorm-mates and Hermione listen in.

“It doesn’t matter, Nev. Anyway, me and Harry have big news that can only stay between us Gryffindors.” I say, letting everyone nod in agreement of the deal, then I look at Harry to continue.

“Oliver Wood – you know the Scottish Fifth Year, over there? Yeah, he’s the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and I’m Gryffindor’s Seeker and Draco is our reserve and Wood’s second, who will help him with strategies and tactics!” Harry whispers excitedly, everyone gasps in awe and clap us on the back.

The Weasley twins also come over, congratulating us and telling us they are Beaters on the team. Fred assures us that with Harry as Seeker, and with my help, we are going to win the Cup this year, which hadn’t happened since their brother, Charlie, had left. Then they go to find Lee Jordan and a secret passage he has found.

“What’s this? Your last meals? Going back to the Muggles, Potter? And, you, Malfoy, have they expelled you for being a weak traitor? But you don’t have a home to go to…do you? Might as well go with Potter to the Muggles, you’ll fit right in with them.” Parkinson barges between the twins as they walk away, Crabbe and Goyle slightly behind her, while Bulstrode and Nott watching nervously from the edge of the Slytherin table.

“You’re a lot braver now you’re back on the ground and you’ve got your little friends with you.” Harry retorts, obviously slating her on what happened between them in the sky after I had left. Cracking their knuckles, the thick-not-quite-little ‘bodyguards’ scowl ‘menacingly’ because they can’t do anything right in the middle of the packed Great Hall. Not that we are scared of them.

“I’m not scared of you, Potter. I can take you on. Wizard’s duel, tonight. Or are you too scared to fight a Pureblood girl?” Parkinson seethes, getting close to Harry’s face. Ron pushes her shoulder, making her stumble a few steps back, and they lock eyes.

“Of course he isn’t – who would be? I’m his second, who’s yours?” Ron says icily, smirking. Parkinson looks a little taken aback, and turns to analyse her friends, trying to find someone who has a lick of something close to competence. She glances hopefully at Blaise, who is talking to Terry Boot, but he rolls his eyes when he notices her stare. Not even taking Bulstrode and Nott into consideration, she sighs and glances between her closest followers. Finally she mutters that Crabbe is her second.

“Meet at midnight, in the trophy room. It is always unlocked.” Parkinson barks, before whirling round dramatically and storming off.

I finish tucking into my dinner, steak and kidney pie, as Ron explains to a confused Harry what a wizard’s duel actually is. Then they come onto the subject of the fact Harry wasn’t actually confident in any magic.

“Neither is Parkinson.” I say, causing Ron to nod.

“Yeah, and if worst comes to worst-” Ron began.

“She’s amazing at magic and I die?” Harry mutters.

“No, just throw your wand and punch her on the nose.” Ron smiles, but a cough behind us causes us to turn around. Hermione had left her seat at some point in the confrontation and is now standing stiffly behind us.

“Excuse me.” She says.

“Can’t a person eat in peace in this place?” Ron sighs sarcastically, shooting her a dark look. He hadn’t meant to just pick on her, he was talking about the Slytherins as well, but Hermione still looks like she was being personally targeted. Instead of starting an argument with the redhead, she ignores him and turns to Harry.

“I couldn’t help overhearing what you and Parkinson were saying.” Hermione starts, but is cut off by Ron muttering something to himself. “Anyway, you mustn’t go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you’ll lose Gryffindor if you’re caught, and you’re bound to be. It’s really rather selfish of you.”

“And it’s really none of your business,” Harry snarls, which is true.

“Goodbye.” Ron spits, turning around and re-tucking into his meal, followed suit by Harry. I had already started eating, when they were still talking with Hermione, because unlike the girl, I know what business is mine and what business I should get involved in.

Turns out Neville fell into the same category as Hermione, for when we all left to go to the Common Rooms, he tries to confront them about it. Ron ends up turning away from Neville to fast, which causes the bigger boy to tumble and cry out.

“What did you do?” I ask impatiently for Ron hadn’t meant to hurt Neville, and he was annoying the other two, and me slightly.

“My wrist, it was still fragile. I-I think I’ve re-broken it.” Neville whimpers, which causes me to feel a little bad for snapping. I take him to the Hospital Wing, and explain he had tripped clumsily and had hurt it again. Madame Pomfrey tuts and sends me back, so she could tell the already crying boy off in private, to make the situation a little less humiliating for him.

Afterwards, I spend the night playing a few rounds of Exploding Snap and Wizard’s Chess with Seamus, Dean and a boy in the year above, Cormac McLaggen. Cormac is snobbish, impatient, a sore loser and has terrible manners, but he is fairly friendly and isn’t _too_ bad to hang out with. I go over a couple of pieces of homework with Seamus, then we run them by Hermione.

It is just before ten when Percy sends all First and Second years to bed, straight to sleep. Neville wasn’t back yet, so I am a little worried, but I guess Madame Pomfrey kept him in so he could properly rest to re-heal to the bone before he went back to the throng of the school. Or to save him a little humiliation.

Seamus and Dean fall asleep quickly, and obviously Harry and Ron stay up, trying to feign sleep. I lay awake with thoughts whirling around my head.

What had Parkinson meant, by me not having a home to go to? Have I officially been disowned? Nothing had been sent since the Howler, and I hadn’t been taken aside by McGonagall or Dumbledore to discuss my possible home situation.

Suddenly I hear Ron’s voice slightly break the silence, a small whisper of the time and for them to go. Pulling on their dressing-gowns, clutching their wands and being almost so quiet that I could have thought they’d cast a charm – but they hadn’t, they were First Years with only less than two months here – they disappeared out of the room.

I soon slip into sleep, and find myself in front of a cracked mirror. The face that stares back isn’t mine, though – it’s _Quirrell’s_. Why am I having a dream where I am Quirrell? Or maybe this isn’t a dream...

A voice snarls from behind me, and while Quirrell doesn’t turn so – he? I? We? – can see who it is, I recognise it instantly. Severus Snape.

“What do you mean, ‘master’ has sent you on a mission?”

Why are Quirrell and Snape talking in the middle of a night? Where are they in the castle? Who is this master? Quirrell had obviously said something before I had arrived, about a person who he had said was both of their master’s. Who would be their collective master? Dumbledore? Dumbledore may be the Headmaster, and mastermind of complex actions and decisions, but he wasn’t what Quirrell would call a master, and who Snape would take the mick of Quirrell for calling him ‘master’.

“D-do not c-call him mast-t-ter in that m-mocking tone! He _i-is_ our m-master!” Quirrell screams into the mirror, his turban shaking furiously.

“No, he was my master, and many others, a long time ago, and will be again. And I never used the term master. He was never your master, what have you done – Quirrell?” Snape hisses, meeting the other man’s eyes in the mirror. For a moment, Quirrell’s eyes flash with fear, and Snape’s glints cold and dark.

 _“Yes, what have you done, Quirrell?_ ” A voice laughs from somewhere behind Quirrell. I don’t recognise his voice, but I feel like I know it, a distant memory. This third person must be quite short, and directly behind Quirrell, so he isn’t reflected in the mirror. Quirrell moves slightly and I see a chair with robes on it come into view briefly. _They are in Quirrell’s rooms_.

I am being dragged away from the scene suddenly, into darkness. Flickering my eyes open, millions of questions rushed through my head – who had been the third person? Who is the master? What had Quirrell done? What had Snape meant by the fact the mysterious someone had been his master, not Quirrell’s, and would be again? I feel like I should know the answer, but my exhaustion is making everything foggy and muddled.

A movement makes me jump, but I see Ron, Harry and Neville rush into their separate beds, all three pale and deep in thought, with Neville quivering in fear. What had happened to Neville? Maybe something had happened at the wizard’s duel – but where did Neville tie into it?

My dream completely banished from my mind, I furrow my brow, close my eyes and fall into a nice, dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY PUBLISH SOMETHING!!! I'M REALLY SORRY!!! I wrote the first half with Wood and them talking about Quidditch almost instantly after the last chapter, but the second half took a lot longer. Yet again, there are a handful of direct quotes and happening's from the book. Please forgive me, and don't give up on me! Comment and kudos xx

**Author's Note:**

> Like it? Comment and kudos! x


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